The Outlaw Knight
by staceums
Summary: Very AU, light and fluffy. Final Fantasy VIII characters in a western.  Seifer x Quistis, of course.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note and Disclaimer:_** I realize that there are several FFVIII westerns out there; in fact, my title has been used with permission from author **Kitsune Moonstar**, who has written the fic "The Lady of Centra and the Outlaw Knight," another FFVIII western I suggest you take a look at ;) That being said, the characters in this fanfic belong to Square(Soft)-Enix and the makers of _Final Fantasy VIII. _The ideas are entirely my own but I'm sure others have thought of the same plots and written similar fics, but it was NOT my intention to plagiarize anyone in any way, shape, or form.

Please keep in mind that this is a fanfic. Feedback and constructive criticism is encouraged about my _**writing**_, however, not about my _**ideas**_. If you don't like what I put in here, don't ask me to change anything. You have the power to write about it yourself. And that doesn't mean by plagiarizing.

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><p>A good theme song to listen to while reading this is "Under the Apple Tree" from the <em>FFVII Crisis Core<em> soundtrack.

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><p>Seifer Almasy sat on top of a sleek, dark brown horse and looked out towards the horizon, now dimmed by the lavender clouds, colored with the recent sunset. He sighed. He was tired from riding – almost three weeks now – but he didn't want to make camp. The little town nestled next to some hills on the wide open range looked inviting – Lord knows he needed a bath, and he was dying for a good, hot meal – but he wasn't sure how notorious his reputation had gotten this far out. Odds are the law had spread word about him, and if the town sheriff knew what he looked like, it was enough for him to steer clear of populated areas.<p>

His gaze traveled to a small cottage on the outskirts of town. Its windows were dark, but there was a thin trail of smoke coming out of the small chimney, and there was a white horse tied to a small post next to a watering trough. Shortly down the lane from the cottage was a small schoolhouse; its windows were still dimly lit, despite the time of day. School was well out of session, but it seemed that the instructor hadn't yet left. It was far enough out of town to have a quiet atmosphere and plenty of room for the children, but it was close enough to town that a commute by horse wouldn't be a burden.

Hyperion let out a low grunt and hooved the ground, moving the bit around in his mouth. The dark brown horse seemed just as impatient to get some well-needed rest and some hearty oats. Seifer leaned forward and patted him on his neck, then flicked the reins and tapped his heels back. The horse obliged and slowly made its way down the hill towards a dusty road that led to the cottage.

**_. . . _**

Quistis Trepe sighed as she sat down at her desk. She glanced around the classroom, making sure the children left everything neat and orderly, then she glanced out the window. The sky was a beautiful pale yellow, but the horizon was tinted with hints of orange and the clouds had turned a deep purple. The sun was setting; best be off.

Her gaze darted to the letter sitting on her desk, and she let out another long sigh.

She'd been thinking about that letter all day. She had tried not to get distracted during her lessons. But there it sat; the broken red wax seal facing up, staring at her as if it was taunting her. She'd opened it in the morning, before the children arrived. It was sitting under the crack of her door when she awoke; it must have been there for at least an hour.

She knew the wax seal.

It was the Marshal's.

She sighed again and glanced at the window, pretending to ignore the letter. After a moment's pause, however, she gave up and snatched it, opening it with spite and reading the words carefully.

_Dear Quistis –_

_I have to apologize for leaving so abruptly, but duty calls and I'm off to the southwest again for patrols. Word has gotten around about the outlaw Chocobo Zell – he's on the move and I intend to catch him this time. He was last sighted in a town very far from here, so there's no need to worry. Balamb should be quite safe._

_I wanted to tell you that I have been thinking about what you told me, but I just didn't know what to say. I still don't, I reckon. I'm not really sure what I'm going to say is what you want to hear, but I was always taught to be honest, especially to a lady – and you've been a very important lady in my life, Quistis. You're like a sister to me._

Quistis felt her insides churn as she read the sentence. She closed her eyes and let out another deep sigh, feeling incredibly foolish. She swallowed, lifted the letter, and read on.

_I wish I had kinder words to give you, especially since you've been nothing but kind and gentle to me, and you deserve to be treated with respect. It hurts me to write this, Quistis, but I think this is the best for both of us right now. You know that my duties always come first, and I know that yours does as well. I don't believe you to be the sort of person who would begrudge a man's free will, but I think – _

Quistis turned the letter over and slammed it down on her desk, angry at herself. She couldn't bear to read the rest, as the rest of the letter contained a simple but devastating message. Oh, to be sure, it was delicately written with politeness and discretion, but the message was there all the same. It was the message she dreaded he'd give, although for some reason, she'd harbored the delusional thoughts that he wouldn't ever give that sort of response to _her_.

She sighed and stood up, grabbing her shawl. Why did she keep doing this to herself? Why did she stay at the schoolhouse, pining, staring out the window, hoping that he'd miraculously drop by to reconsider? The words in the letter weren't going to change. Marshal Leonhart had made up his mind, and by the sound of things, he'd made up his mind long ago, even before she'd come to have feelings for him. He'd always thought of her as nothing more than a…a…

…_a sister._

Her hand went to her forehead and she let out a deep sigh, ashamed. She'd never be able to show her face to him again. What a fool she had been!

She tucked a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear and blew out the lantern. Giving the schoolhouse one last check for untidiness, she made her way towards the front steps. After closing and locking the door, she took a deep breath and sighed, glancing around. The horizon was still beautiful, but it had started to grow dark and the last of the orange glow in the sky was almost gone. She slowly and begrudgingly started to walk up the path towards her cottage.

**_. . ._**

Hyperion trudged along slowly and whickered, clearly tired and cranky. Seifer gave him another pat and glanced up, spying the woman walking up the lane, from the schoolhouse, towards the cottage. Her blonde hair was neatly pinned up, and from what he could tell, she was a tall, slender woman. She wore a high-collared, black-and-white, small-checkered, button-up blouse that was tucked into a long, black skirt with a dainty red belt. She carried only one book and held an oatmeal-colored shawl around her shoulders. He couldn't tell from this distance, but if he had to guess, she seemed distracted.

**_. . ._**

Quistis was almost to her porch when she stopped. A brown horse was coming down the lane from the east, with a stranger on top of it. He was wearing a grey trench coat and a brown hat – two distinctly unmatched pieces of clothing – but the trench coat was simply to shield the wind and dust. She couldn't see what he wore underneath, but after glancing at his black boots, shiny silver spurs, full saddlebags, the folded blanket on the horse's rear, and the shotgun tucked into a holster in plain view, she knew he'd been traveling for a while. He wasn't from the area, and she always regarded outsiders with a wary attitude.

As the horse came closer, he pulled the reins to slow it to a stop. He nodded at her and tipped his hat. "Ma'am."

She straightened and gave him a brief smile. "Hello."

He nodded towards the small cottage. "This your house?"

She blinked at the question and her smile immediately faded. Any courtesy the man initially displayed had immediately vanished upon the blatant inquiry, which was a taboo remark. No stranger would outright address a lady so directly, nor was she willing to admit to a drifter she lived alone so unprotected. Her only response was an attempt to dodge his question.

"I beg your pardon?"

He pointed. "That house. You live in it?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe that's any of your business."

"You a teacher?"

She stiffened, not appreciating the sudden barrage of questions. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

He sat back in the saddle and examined her. "That's because I didn't give it."

She set her jaw. "May I ask for it, then?"

"No."

She bristled. "Then I bid you good day, sir." With that, she turned on her heel and started to walk towards the house, ignoring his smirk.

He waited for a few seconds before adding, "You didn't answer my question."

"I don't believe I'm entitled to," she replied, still walking.

"Well _hell_, lady, you just came from that schoolhouse," he motioned towards the school, "so either you're a really old student or you're the teacher."

"_First_ of all," she turned to face him, her patience running thin, "you may address me as _Miss_ Trepe, not _lady_. Secondly, _please_ don't swear. And if you must know, _yes_, I am a teacher. "

"_Miss_ Trepe?"

"That's correct."

"You're not married, then?"

Her face turned pink and she opened her mouth, outraged.

He grinned. "I'll take that as a yes."

"_Excuse_ me! Can I help you, sir?" she snapped irritably. "Are you in need of some schooling? Perhaps I can teach you some manners?"

He shrugged and squinted as he glanced at the schoolhouse. "Nah. School never really worked out for me."

"I can't imagine why," she replied sarcastically.

He leaned forward on the saddle and patted his horse. "Can you tell me who's the Sheriff in these parts?"

She narrowed her eyes, ignoring his grammar. "Why do you ask?"

"You're the teacher in town, Miss Trixie, so you must know everybody."

"Miss _Trepe_."

"Whatever."

"No, _not_ whatever, I am not a saloon floozy. If you don't address me in the correct manner - "

"I'm lookin' for the sheriff," he interrupted her in a bored tone. "Know where I might find him?"

"Perhaps you could start by being a bit more polite," Quistis crossed her arms, "and I would be happy to oblige."

The man sighed, slowly dismounted his horse, and took off his hat. Dust blew off of his trench coat as he moved, and a line of dirt had collected on his forehead where the sweat caught beneath the brim of the hat. Thick, unshaven, dirty blonde stubble grew from his cheeks, chin, and neck. He'd obviously been riding for days, and had paid no attention to his hygiene. Quistis automatically took a step back and eyed him in revulsion. He gave his horse a pat, brought it forward to let it drink out of the water trough, placed his hat on the saddle, removed his gloves, and ran a hand through his hair. She swallowed when she caught a glimpse of a large, black pistol in a holster hanging low on his hips, but the trench coat swept in front of it before she could see anything else. Even her milky white mare seemed averse to his brown stallion. She whickered nervously and stepped away as he drank from her trough.

The man glanced at her and flashed her a small, mischievous grin, despite the fierce look in his striking green eyes. If he would've been a washed, clean-cut gentleman, he would've been incredibly handsome. Instead, he was a dirty drifter with a dirty mouth that obviously had no respect for women.

"The name's Almasy. Seifer Almasy. If I was to say that I'm lost and need a sheriff to direct my way, it would be ever so kind of you to help, Miss Crepe."

She frowned. He was most definitely not lost, nor was he in dire need of a sheriff. At least his arrogant smile told her as much.

"_Trepe_. I am not a dessert. And judging by your character, you're more like to find the saloon than you are the sheriff."

He tried to hide a grin. _She has no idea who I am. Which means…_ He put a hand to his chest. "Why, miss teacher, that hurt. Now, why would you say something like that about me?"

"You've been anything but polite to _me_."

He bowed slightly. "Your pardon, ma'am. I never meant no disrespect, I was only foolin'. It's been a hard ride and I haven't seen a beautiful creature such as yourself for so long - "

"It's _much_ too late for that," Quistis rolled her eyes. "You've already displayed your true nature, Mister Almasy, so you might as well get on with it."

"Did I say beautiful?" he raised an eyebrow, his grin never fading. "My mistake. I meant feisty."

She set her jaw and narrowed her eyes. "Mister Almasy - "

"Ain't no shame in that," he shrugged, smiling at her, as if he were enjoying every moment of teasing her. "I know lots of feisty women. They're not exactly respectable teachers, if you catch my drift, but all the same - "

"_Mister Almasy!_" she snapped. "If I direct you to the Sheriff, will you leave immediately?"

He laughed and put his hat back on his head. "I promise, Miss Trepe."

_At least he remembered this time._ "About a mile that way," she motioned towards the town, "you'll find his office a few buildings down, to the left. You won't get very far, though. He's out of town."

Seifer raised an eyebrow. "Out of town?"

"He's joined with the Marshal. They're looking for Chocobo Zell."

"_That_ idiot?" He snorted. "Good luck."

Quistis blinked, not quite knowing what to make of that statement. "The Marshal, or Chocobo Zell?"

He looked away and rolled his eyes, his answer barely audible. "Both."

"I'm sorry?"

"Who's the law in this town, then?" Seifer asked, changing the subject. "This sheriff got a deputy?"

Quistis nodded. "His deputy should still be there, keeping the peace in town until he returns. The mayor should also be available, should you be so inclined to meet with him."

_Not a chance in hell._ "I just might. Thank you, ma'am." With that, he made a clicking sound and tugged on his horse's reins, grabbing his gloves from the saddle as the horse turned obligingly.

Quistis stepped forward. "If you don't mind me asking, what do you need to see the sheriff for?"

Seifer slid on his gloves, wheeled the horse around, and climbed into the saddle. "I'm a stranger in town, Miss Teacher. Small towns don't take too kindly to outsiders; it would be best if I went straight to the Sheriff to let him know I'm just passin' through. I'm not one to beat around the bush."

"No," Quistis replied dryly. "You most certainly are not."

He flashed her another impudent grin and tipped his hat. "Well, I promised I'd leave, and a promise I'll keep. It was a pleasure speaking with you. Perhaps we'll meet again?"

She forced a smile. "Mmm…yes, perhaps. If we do, I trust that your manners will have improved by then."

He chuckled and flicked the reins. "Aw, Miss Teacher, you know my rough manners are only to help me keep my guard up around feisty women!"

Before she could open her mouth to retort an answer, he trotted off down the lane towards town. Even his horse seemed to have an extra spring in its step, as if to taunt her as it cantered away. She set her jaw and narrowed her eyes, glad that she was seeing the last of this foul-mouthed rascal.

_Spurned by two men in one day, and one of them didn't even know me!_

It could hardly get any worse.


	2. Chapter 2

The inn was right across the road from the sheriff's office and the local jail, as was the saloon.

_Convenient._

Seifer had absolutely no intention of visiting the sheriff, his deputy, or the mayor. He simply wanted to gauge Miss Trepe's reaction, as well as obtain information about the law enforcement, before heading into town. If she didn't recognize him or know his name, then there was a good chance he was safe. Even better, the sheriff was supposed to be out of town, and he wasn't the least bit worried about deputies.

Almost nobody knew his real name, but all the same, the _Marshal_ knew. It was risky to give it to the teacher, but she didn't react to it.

He frowned. But the teacher knew the Marshal. Either he frequented this town, or he lived here. Best not to linger too long.

That is, after a hot bath, putting on some clean clothes, and paying at least _one_ visit to the saloon.

_**. . .**_

It was getting late. Quistis sighed and glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle. It was nearly midnight. She never stayed up this late, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep if she tried.

The day had been long and tiring, yet she couldn't stop thinking about the Marshal's letter and how much of a fool she'd been. She'd opened her heart to him – countless times – and for what? To be likened as a sister? The thought made her feel ill. How could she have been so silly? How could she have been more transparent to him? He must've thought her a complete simpleton.

But now, not only had the overwhelming feeling of sadness consumed her all day, it was suddenly accompanied by fear and dread. The Marshal was the only person in her life she truly cared about. The town was too small to have more than a few suitors, and most of the men were already married and settled. The Sheriff was a handsome bachelor, but marrying _him_ was completely out of the question. It was becoming more and more evident to her that she would live her life alone, without anyone to share it with.

Leaving town wasn't an option. She had a good life here as a teacher, and she loved all the children.

She felt her heart ache to think that she wouldn't be able to have any of her own.

Most spinsters ended up as saloon girls, or worse, prostitutes. Quistis frowned.

Even _that_ thought left her wanting. Would she ever love another? Feel a man's touch?

It was inevitable. She would grow old by herself, left alone with no husband and no children. If the Marshall didn't want her, who else would simply appear out of nowhere and sweep her off her feet?

There was an abrupt knock at the door. She'd been so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't even hear a horse trot up, or boots on the wooden porch. Quistis stood up and raised her shawl over her shoulders, cocking a head towards the entrance, wondering who it could be.

As soon as she opened the door, she wished she would have remained seated.

A black pistol immediately appeared through the opening and was pointed right in her face. She stepped back, horrified, as Seifer Almasy stepped through, grimacing in pain, holding a bloody hand to his shoulder, and motioned the gun towards the room to the left.

"Don't make a sound. Move."

She obeyed and stood out of the way as he closed the door, locked it, and peered through the curtain out the nearby window.

His voice was thick and ragged. "Got some rags? Water?"

She didn't reply, but swiftly moved towards the washing basin, picked up a few clean towels, and grabbed a small pitcher of water. She wet one of the rags and strode to him, already knowing what he needed. She gingerly moved his hand out of the way and recoiled.

"Dear Lord."

"I've had worse," he replied, reaching for the wet rag and pressing it up against his shoulder.

"Not for long," she countered sternly. "You're bleeding terribly. You need a doctor. Why did you come here?"

"No time for a doctor," he grunted, glancing out of the window again. "You'll have to do for now, teacher."

"Please, just…" she wanted him out. He was shot for a reason, and she didn't want that reason to follow him to her house. She somehow already knew that it was, since he kept looking out the window. "I'll give you whatever you want. Medicine, money, anything. Just leave."

He chuckled at her, even though the movement was causing him more pain. "You crazy female. Do you really think I'm going to rob you? Money ain't gonna make my gunshot go away. Besides," he added, glancing out the window, "I don't steal from women."

She crossed her arms. "Well, that makes me feel _so_ much better."

"Keep your mouth shut," he replied gruffly. "And put out that lantern."

She set her jaw, and with a huff, she strode towards the lantern sitting next to the door and snuffed the flame out.

The only source of light was the small fire in the hearth. The dancing firelight in the room gave the atmosphere an eerie feel, and Quistis stared at the outlaw's gun as it glinted in the orange flicker. He held it barrel-up, hammer back, next to his chest as he used one eye to peer behind the window curtain. She swallowed and glanced up at him. His eyes were narrowed and he tried not to grimace in pain as he moved, but she saw that he must have washed and shaved since she last saw him. His clean face was set in an angry frown, and his jaw muscles worked as he grit his teeth. His sharp, piercing gaze betrayed green eyes when the strip of moonlight hit it right. After he'd taken off his hat and tossed it in the nearby armchair, she noticed a stubborn cowlick had popped forward from his short crop, which seemed to be a lighter blonde than she had seen before. Now that he was closer, she could smell a hint of spice and tobacco on him, and he was much taller than she remembered. Her gaze traveled back down to his bloody hand, which clutched the towel, now stained with red blood, against his shoulder wound. Her burning question came out as a whisper.

"What happened?"

"Marshal Leonhart happened," he replied in a low voice. "Finally caught up to me."

She swallowed, her mouth dry. "The Marshal? He's in town?"

He glanced at her and noticed her flush. "Yeah. He is. Wasn't expecting _him_ to be there. I thought you said he was out of town, looking for Chocobo Zell?"

Quistis could only shake her head in shock. "I…I _did_…I mean…he _was!_ At least…I thought he was…he said…"

He gave her a menacing look and took a step forward. "You didn't set me up, did you?"

She stepped back and shook her head frantically. "No! No! Honestly, I didn't know…" She blinked and looked away. "He was supposed to have left this morning…I would have known if he came back…"

Seifer watched her. "Guess he hasn't come a-callin' yet?"

She glared at him, her nostrils flaring. "Well, whatever you've done, you must've deserved it," her gaze flicking towards his wound.

"Can't deny that. I got him a couple months ago. Same damn arm, actually."

Quistis gasped. "_You're_ the one that shot him?"

He gave her a pained grin. "My reputation travels far and wide, I see."

"If you mean a reputation as a thief, a womanizer, and no-good lout, then yes," she crossed her arms.

"So you've heard about me."

She narrowed her eyes. "He said that someone shot him during a firefight; that there was an incident in a saloon and he was trying to make an arrest – _yours_, apparently. No doubt you were stealing money and harassing the women."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Hrmh. No doubt."

There was a painfully long pause. After giving her a hard glare, Seifer turned back to the window and kept watch as Quistis stood there helplessly, hugging herself and wishing the nightmare would end soon. As the minutes ticked by like years, he finally released the hammer from its locked position and put the gun back in the holster at his hip. The action seemed to loosen the dangerous tension hanging in the air. It didn't seem like he was being followed.

Quistis swallowed, and after another extensive pause, she spoke up, wanting to get him out of the house as soon as possible.

"Well?"

His fierce green eyes darted to her. "Well, what?"

"Are you going to tell me why you're here, bleeding in my house, avoiding the authorities?"

Seifer glared at her. "No."

Quistis crossed her arms in contempt. "I suppose you got shot by accident, then?"

He glanced back out the window. "Seems like."

"You seem to have had several encounters with the Marshal," Quistis raised an eyebrow. "Care to explain why?"

"You seem to have had several encounters with the Marshal yourself," he countered, garnering a hard glare from her. "Hasn't he already told you?"

The Marshal hardly ever told Quistis anything about his job. He kept to himself, for the most part. Quistis looked away. "No. He's a busy man. He's not the type to sit around and tell stories at supper time."

Seifer rolled his eyes. "You mean he doesn't _care_ to."

Her face turned pink with rage but she said nothing.

There was another agonizing stretch of silence, but Quistis didn't bother to keep the conversation going. She slowly walked over to her armchair and sat down gingerly, keeping her gaze on the floor. To her surprise, Seifer spoke up.

"Ever hear of Zell Dincht?"

Quistis blinked. "…You mean Chocobo Zell?"

"That's the one. I was the one who gave him that name, by the way. Inadvertently, at least."

"What?"

"Looks like a chocobo. Got hair as yellow as their feathers, spikin' all which-way. He also has a nasty tattoo on one side of his face - "

"I _know_ who he is," Quistis looked away. "He stole money from the local bank almost six months ago." She looked down and sighed. "That money was to go towards the school."

Seifer examined her for a minute, blinked, then shook his head. "Yeah, well…that's how _stupid_ he is. Half the whole damn country is on his tail. Can't believe the chicken-wuss got away with it in the first place. Gotta hand it to him, though…he sure does know how to use the element of surprise."

"I don't understand what this has to do with Marshal Leonhart."

"About six months ago, I was playing a mean round of poker with that chicken-wuss in Deling City when the Marshal came into the saloon. I didn't know he was there at the time; I was too busy with the game. The stakes were high and I was winning big…that is, of course, until the idiot's temper took control."

"From the sound of him, I can't believe you didn't get killed," Quistis chided. "What were you doing playing poker with a criminal?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You sure are a bossy little thing."

She crossed her arms.

"Well, ol' Zell goes ballistic," Seifer continued, "screaming and shouting and carrying on about how he got cheated, how I never give him a cut of his share, and so out comes the guns and it's a standoff right in the middle of the damn saloon. Leonhart intervenes and all hell breaks loose. Leonhart takes a shot at Zell, Zell takes a shot at me, I take a shot at him, you name it…well, I shoot Leonhart in the fray, and that chicken-wuss Chocobo Zell gets away clean with most of my money. Yellow-bellied bastard."

"_Please_ don't swear in my house."

"The Marshal and I haven't been on good terms after that. He's been chasin' me all over the country, God knows why, when he should be hunting down Chocobo Zell."

Quistis's thoughts turned to the letter he'd written her earlier, and wondered if he'd lied to her. _He said he was going to hunt down Chocobo Zell…but this Seifer Almasy says that he was in the saloon…_

"What happened tonight, then?"

Seifer glanced out the window. "So there I was, just mindin' my own business at the saloon, not thinkin' any law would be in town due to a certain lady's _assessment_," he gave her a look, "when wouldn't you know, the damn Marshal himself and his hoss - "

"_Language_, Mister Almasy - "

Seifer ignored her. "So Leonhart walks in with the Sheriff close at his heels, probably lookin' for some trim - "

"_Mister Almasy!_"

"What? Why _else_ would they be in there?"

"They're the _law!_ They were probably _upholding_ it! A place full of riff-raff such as yourself probably needs a little - "

"I resent that remark, teacher. Hell, all I was doin' was grabbin' a nice hot meal! What're you mad at _me_ for? _Leonhart_ was the one prancin' about with the new gal - "

"I don't want to hear any more about it!" Quistis screeched. "It is none of my business!"

"You _asked!_"

"It's already been established that you're not being followed," she stood up from her chair, suddenly livid. "You are to leave my house immediately! Get _out!_"

"That's not an option," Seifer's injured arm moved and his hand went to the butt of his gun. He did it almost nonchalantly, but it made Quistis take a step back, knowing it was a silent warning. He winced and shifted his weight, glancing at the bloody rag he was still holding to his shoulder. "You're gonna have to patch me up, teacher."

"That is _out_ of the question," she snapped. "For one, you're a complete scoundrel and crook. I won't help a criminal."

"You don't even have any idea what kind of crook I am."

"I…well…you've _stolen_ something, haven't you?"

"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't."

She crossed her arms, losing patience. "Innocent men don't get bullet wounds from Marshal Leonhart."

"I never said I was innocent. But don't accuse me of something that don't exist."

She let out an exasperated huff. "I'm not a doctor. I'm afraid I won't be much help - "

"You're a _woman_."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Women know how to patch men up. You're born with that skill, for God's sake."

She crossed her arms angrily. "I don't have any experience in that, save a few skinned knees."

He gave her a leer. "Well, you'll have to do. You wouldn't want me to bleed all over your pretty little house, would you?"

She pointed towards the door, teeth clenched. "Get out!"

"I'm not leavin'."

Quistis was through. She had a horrible day, and it had gone from bad to worse the moment this Seifer Almasy walked into her life. She already hated him, and by this point, she'd rather get shot than put up with any more men trampling on her dignity. A fleeting surge of rage made her forget her senses. "_Yes you are!_ I've had _enough_ of your foul-mouthed, ill-tempered manners! I won't help you, do you understand? _OUT!_"

Seifer pulled the gun out of its holster and aimed it at her with an annoyed sigh. She immediately fell silent, wishing she'd have bitten her tongue.

"Look, teacher, I've been really friendly to you up 'til now. It would be a shame if our relationship would take a turn for the worse. You seem to have forgotten that I'm the one that holds the gun, and since you seem to be hell-bent on calling me a crook, what's to stop me from bein' a murderer as well?"

"You said you didn't rob women," she replied, although her voice had lost its touch of bravery. "I seriously doubt you would go so far as to murder one."

He curled a lip and cocked the hammer. "Wanna test that theory?"

She swallowed hard, took a step back, gazed at the black barrel, then glanced back up at him. The look in his piercing green eyes struck her somehow, and for some reason, she felt that his threats didn't match his expression. There was something familiar about his eyes; beneath the burning anger, they were pleading somehow, and he was in pain…

Before she could stop herself from arguing with an armed man, she blurted, "You're not going to shoot me."

He raised an eyebrow. "No?"

She swallowed and lifted her chin. "No."

There was a long pause as he stared at her. She couldn't tell if he was contemplating murder or if he was at a sudden loss. After a while, he lowered the gun and released the hammer. "Goddamned stubborn female."

"_Perhaps_ you could address me as Miss Trepe."

He let out an angry growl. "Look, lady - "

"If you expect me to mend your wound, you should start working on your manners."

He suddenly threw the bloody towel down with his other hand, grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her forward. "I've got a better idea. How about I tie you up and throw you in the stable?"

Their faces were inches from each other, and he could detect the faint smell of wildflowers. There was no fear in her eyes, despite the threat – he suddenly noticed that they were a striking, icy blue, even in the dim firelight.

Before she could utter an angry reply, the _clip-clop_ of hooves in the distance, followed by a faint whinny, made them both freeze.

"Damn," Seifer released her arm and backed away, quickly glancing out the window. "How in the hell would they know I'm here?"

Quistis hugged herself and stepped backwards, relieved to be free of his grasp and even more relieved to hear that someone was approaching. She glanced down and noticed a bloody handprint on her arm.

"You never saw me, you understand?" he pointed at her menacingly as he backed into the next room.

Quistis's mouth opened in protest. "You can't – but – that's – don't – that's my bedroom!"

He paused and looked around. "Hm. Tidy. Not much happens in here, eh?"

She narrowed her eyes and her mouth opened wider. "Oooh! You…you…incorrigible _dog_!"

Seifer ignored her as he checked the chambers of his revolver, snapped back the cylinder, and cocked the hammer again. "Give 'em any hints that I'm here, and things are going to get real nasty, real quick."

"Why?" she challenged him, putting her hands on her hips. "Are you going to kill me if I do?"

He glared at her from across the room. "No, but you wouldn't want anything to happen to your dear Marshal, would you?"

She swallowed and turned towards the window. The Sheriff and the Marshal were rounding their horses up in front of the house. The Marshal pulled out his silver revolver and dismounted. She took a deep breath and glanced at Seifer. He had stepped past the doorway to her bedroom and stood behind the wall so that only half of his body could be seen. It was dark due to the dim firelight in the kitchen, but she saw the clear glint of the black gun in one hand and one eye peering at her from behind the frame.

The soft _ching_ of the Marshal's spurs and his heavy footsteps on her porch snapped her to attention and she swirled to face the front door.

_Knock, knock, knock, knock._

Quistis swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She glanced back at Seifer. He hadn't made a sound and he didn't move, but he continued to watch her from behind the doorframe.

She glanced back at the door, trying to control her roiling stomach, and tentatively took a step forward, gingerly placing her hands on the doorknob. Closing her eyes, she slowly unlocked the door. She licked her lips, opened her eyes, and tried to feign slight surprise and curiosity when she opened the door.

Squall removed his hat and nodded at her. "Quistis."

"Marshal…" she swallowed and the words caught in her throat.

"I…hope I didn't wake you?" Squall quickly glanced at her dress, realizing that he probably hadn't if she was still fully clothed in her daytime garb. "Or…disturb you?"

Quistis shook her head numbly. "No…I…"

_There's a thief in my house! There's a thief in my house! There's a thief in my house! There's a rotten, dirty, foul-mouthed, no-good womanizing scoundrel bleeding all over my house…_

…_Wait._

"I…" She blinked at him. "I thought you were out of town? Looking for Chocobo Zell with the Sheriff?"

He licked his lips and looked down. "Yes…well…uh…Irvine and I decided to leave early tomorrow," he looked behind him. Quistis followed his gaze. Sheriff Kinneas was sitting on a dark brown horse leisurely, and when he saw Quistis, he smiled and tipped his hat. Quistis glanced at Squall with furrowed brows.

He swallowed and continued. "We had a few things to tie up and…it took longer than expected…"

Seifer's words popped into her head. _Mindin' my own business at the saloon –_

"Business at the saloon?" She put her hands on her hips.

Squall looked up at her, surprised. "What?"

"What were you doing in the saloon, Marshal?"

Squall suddenly flushed, which was uncharacteristic of him. Her gaze dropped down to his neck and her heart skipped a beat. She suddenly forgot that there was a thieving scoundrel in the next room.

_Lipstick! Is that…lipstick on his collar?_

Before Squall could open his mouth to explain, Quistis opened the door wider and crossed her arms, forgetting about the smear of blood on the sleeve. "No need to explain, Marshal," she said coolly. "I understand that you need to _unwind_ before your big trip tomorrow. No doubt this is the _Sheriff's_ influence. Now, I'm very tired. Would you mind telling me the purpose of your visit?"

"I'm looking for a fugitive," Squall suddenly seemed to find his words, thankful for the change of subject. "You haven't seen anyone strange or heard anybody come by, have you?"

She tried to sound worried, but wasn't very convincing. "Chocobo Zell?"

Squall rubbed the back of his neck. "Er…no. This is someone else."

Quistis couldn't process anything else but the thought of the letter he'd left her this morning. He _had_ lied to her…not just about Chocobo Zell, but about…about…

Anger flooded back into her senses as the cold realization sunk in. The anger was quickly replaced with bitterness and she couldn't find it in herself to admit that there really _was_ a fugitive in her house. Seifer was watching her in the next room, hidden in the shadows, his gun glinting in the firelight, but she never wavered or glanced over to him.

For once, she would do this alone.

She didn't need Squall.

Besides, for some incredibly odd reason, she wasn't scared of Seifer Almasy. His attitude was nothing compared to the devastating treatment Squall had given her over the course of less than a day.

"I declare, Marshal, you and the Sheriff must be absolutely _exhausted_, with all these criminals running around," Quistis narrowed her eyes. "At this rate, Balamb will be overrun."

Squall set his jaw and said nothing.

"Should I move to a safer area?"

"There's no need for that at the moment, Quistis. He's probably already out of town. But did you notice anyone pass by this way?"

"No, I'm afraid not," she lied. "Can you tell me what's happened? Who are you looking for?"

"We call him the Outlaw Knight. Tall build, grey trench coat, blonde hair. We saw him just hours ago…"

"In the saloon?" Quistis finished for him with an eyebrow raised.

Squall looked down. "Er…yes, in the saloon."

"Imagine that," she sighed loudly.

In the next room, Seifer rolled his eyes.

"He's also injured, so we figured he wouldn't get far. We've already checked the doctor's house, but no leads. We thought that he might have passed by this way since the road out of town goes past your cottage."

Quistis shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. But if I may ask, why do you call him the Outlaw Knight?"

"He fancies himself to be a so-called knight in shining armor," Squall replied. "Somewhat of a hit-man, too, I'd say. Women hire him to do their dirty work. The price has to be right, though, and he's done plenty of things we can't ignore - "

Fear fluttered up into her chest. She swallowed and tried to force it back down to the pit of her stomach. "Things…? What things? What sort of man is on the loose?"

Squall held up a hand. "Don't worry, Quistis. He's not the sort to go after women. He's never laid a hand on one, or so I'm told."

Seifer looked up at the ceiling and swore silently. There went his leverage.

"He has, however, been known to beat men senseless, or rob them clean, or both. He's also wanted for murder."

"Doesn't sound like much of a knight to me," Quistis replied with her eyebrows raised in mock surprise, trying to ignore the word 'murder.' "Sounds like a punch-drunk hooligan."

Seifer narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, well, they call him the knight because he'll help spited women," Squall shrugged. "Usually women that were abused by drunk husbands, or robbed from, sometimes saloon gals treated the wrong way. The type of women that were probably askin' for it in the first place."

Seifer set his jaw and his grip on the pistol tightened.

"That's not an appropriate thing to say, Marshal," Quistis reminded him softly. "A man shouldn't ever abuse a woman, no matter her station - "

"I agree with you that they were wronged, but he shouldn't have taken the law into his own hands," Squall countered. "He's a vigilante and a murderer."

Quistis blinked at him. "Hm." _I wonder how much he charges._ "Well, Marshal, I won't keep you. Happy hunting, and if I see that womanizing scoundrel anywhere near my house, you'll be the first to know."

There was satisfaction in her fib, since she was reciprocating a lie. It was only fair, after all.

Squall nodded. "Thank you, Quistis. We appreciate it."

Quistis nodded back. "Now…it's late, and…if you don't mind…"

"Uh…Quistis…" Squall fumbled with his hat and looked down, his voice low and out of earshot so the Sheriff wouldn't hear. "Look…about this morning…I…"

"No need to explain, Marshal," her voice immediately grew rigid. "I apologize, but I'm awfully tired."

"Yes, but - "

"We're wastin' good moonlight, Squall," the Sheriff called out. "Let's quit beatin' the devil around the stump and bid the sweet lady good night."

Quistis smiled tentatively and slowly started to close the door. "He's right, I'm afraid. You need to catch your man."

"Good night and pleasant dreams, Miss Trepe," Irvine cooed from his horse and waved.

Quistis forced a cheerful wave. "Good night, Sheriff." She glanced at Squall. "Good night, Marshal."

Squall nodded at her again and put his hat back on as she closed the door softly.

Quistis held a breath and stood by the door, keeping her hands on the frame.

Squall turned to leave, but then stopped. His brows furrowed and he blinked.

Irvine cocked his head. "Squall? You comin'?"

Squall turned back towards the door.

_Was that…blood?_

"Quistis?" he knocked. "Uh…Are you all right?"

There was an audible, agitated sigh. "I'm _fine_. If you please, good night."

Squall blinked. There was a long pause.

Seifer raised his gun slowly and took a step out of the room, his eyes dark.

Quistis glanced at him in panic and shook her head, pleading with him silently. Squall's voice could be heard on the other side of the door.

"Quistis, I thought I saw…"

"Good _night_, Marshal," came her rigid voice. "The message in your letter was _very_ clear. Must we continue this tonight?"

He hung his head and sighed. "Right."

There was another long pause. Seifer narrowed his eyes at her and glanced at the door, then glanced back at her.

…_Letter?_

Squall turned. "Good night, Quistis."

The bated pause lasted forever. Quistis prayed that Squall would leave it at that, closing her eyes and resting her head against the frame, and when she heard his boots leave the porch and the jingle of the spurs grew fainter, she let out a sigh of relief. She dared not move, though, until the sound of their horses' hooves faded away as they rode off.

Seifer's deep, taunting voice broke her from her reverie.

"Damn, teacher, I'm _very_ curious about how you got him to leave by mentioning a 'letter,'" he grinned and stepped out of the room, despite the throbbing pain in his shoulder.

Quistis swirled angrily and sliced a hand through the air, pointing towards the door. "I've done what you asked," she hissed at him, "now get out! _Get out!"_

"I'm not gonna get far," he shook his head and glanced at his wound. "Not like this. It's like I said before – you're gonna have to patch me up."

"And as I've told you before," she snapped, "You need a _doctor_. I'm no good at that sort of thing. I wouldn't know - "

"It ain't complicated," he retorted. "You clean the wound and you put a bandage on it."

"I don't want you here!" she would have yelled, but it came out as a loud whisper. "I don't want to help you! Why would I _possibly_ want to help an ill-mannered law-breaking oaf like you?"

"I left a puddle of blood back there in your room," he cocked his head towards her bedroom, "and it's just gonna get worse if you don't fix it. Are you just gonna stand there and wait until I die from blood loss?"

She balled her fists at her sides. "I _should!_ Things have been _awful_ from the moment you've stepped into my life - "

"Now, now. You really want that on your conscience? If I die, then that'll put you in a pickle. Can you imagine trying to carry my body on out of here?" He chuckled. "That'd be a sight to see."

"You are a _disgusting_ human being. Are you actually _enjoying_ this?"

"How about I make you an offer?"

"There is absolutely _nothing_ you could _possibly_ offer me - "

"What if I can get you the money for your school?"

She stared at him. "…What?"

"That stolen money. You said it was for your school, right?"

"Well…yes, but - "

"What if I said I could get it back?"

Her jaw slightly dropped. "Get it back? That's impossible! How will you - "

"I know who the thief is, don't I?"

Quistis shook her head. "But…but…how could I possibly trust you?"

He grinned at her. "Haven't you heard? I'm the Outlaw Knight."

She crossed her arms. "Yes, and you'll help women for a fee. Very chivalrous, Mister Almasy. Tell me, what would your price be?"

He shrugged. "An eye for an eye, teacher. You help me, I'll help you. You can take out this bullet and sew me up, then we'll talk about helping your school."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And if I don't?"

"Then you're wastin' a precious opportunity for all those children. I can keep the money for myself, you know. I'm goin' after Chocobo Zell one way or another, so you might as well accept the deal."

She glared at him, contemplating his words, and hating him even more as she realized that she had no other choice. She didn't trust him to bring back the stolen money, especially for a schoolhouse he didn't care about for a woman he barely even knew, but she couldn't help but hope that the rumors about the Outlaw Knight were true…that somehow, he'd honor his word. Besides, she wanted him out of her sight as soon as possible, and every second he lingered was a second too long. If mending his wound was the only way to make him leave, then best swallow her pride and get it overwith.

"Ooooh, I don't know _why_ I'm doing this for you," she snapped, defeated, crossing the house angrily towards the kitchen, opening cupboards and pulling a few glass bowls down from the shelves. She strode over to a large pot and put it over the fire to heat some water, then stalked through the kitchen, looking for various utensils. "For all I know, you should be sitting in a _jail cell_. I don't _want_ to know why you were in that saloon, and I don't _want_ to know what sort of shenanigans you were up to that caught the attention of both the Sheriff _and_ the Marshal - "

"Hey, hey, _hey_," he held his hands out. "Pull back on the reins, teacher. I went to the saloon because a man needs a hot meal and some whiskey to wash it down with once in awhile, and what's this about shenanigans?"

"Plotting thievery, no doubt - "

"Whoever said I was plotting thievery?"

"Apparently you've made a _career_ out of it!" she barked. "Why else? The Marshal said that - "

"Marshal, Marshal, Marshal," Seifer rolled his eyes. "Who gives a damn what the Marshal says?"

"Don't swear in my house!"

"Aw, _hell_, I forgot - "

"_Mister Almasy!_"

"I'm just sayin', you've got some imagination. Just because Marshal Leonhart told you those stories, it doesn't mean I was out lookin' for trouble - "

"You _shot_ him!"

"That was six months ago! Besides, he shot me back!" He pointed to his shoulder. "Look!"

"I can _see_ - "

"The Marshal and I are square! Are you gonna help me, or what?"

Quistis stared at him, utterly enraged. "Am _I_ going to help _you?_ As if I have a _choice!_ You're the one that came in here pointing your _gun_ in my face - "

"Jesus, I should've just stayed at the inn," he rolled his eyes.

"_Please_ mind your language."

"This is more trouble than it's worth."

"Then _go!_"

He pointed to the pot. "Your water's boiling."

She opened her mouth to argue and closed it, livid, as she glanced at her pot. Using a folded rag, she pulled the pot away from the fire and dropped a clean towel into the water. She moved a wooden chair away from the small kitchen table and placed it next to the pot, near the fire so she could see clearly.

"Sit here."

Silently, Seifer obliged. As Quistis was working in the kitchen – readying more towels, pulling tongs and a sewing kit out of a drawer, and pulling up a chair alongside him – Seifer had pulled off his leather vest, unbuttoned his shirt, and started to lift up his undershirt, but winced. "Teacher, you're gonna have to help me."

Quistis glanced over and blinked in surprise, staring at his exposed abdomen. "Um…I beg your pardon?"

His head was halfway through the neck hole. "I can't raise my arm. If you would be so kind?"

Her mouth opened and closed and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She had no idea if he was teasing her on purpose, or if he was being serious. "I don't think that's appropriate, Mister Almasy - "

"We're _way_ past the formalities, aren't we? I mean, my shirt's almost off, teacher."

She blinked and looked away. "I would prefer that we keep this relationship _very_ formal, given the circumstances, don't you think?"

He glanced at her with an eyebrow raised. "I think our formal relationship was shot to hell from the start, wouldn't you say?"

Quistis let out an audible sigh, annoyed at his choice of words.

"If you're gonna patch me up, my undershirt's gotta come off, and that's that."

She grit her teeth and helped him reluctantly, trying not to notice his physique. Blood had already dripped from his shoulder down his chest and arm, and she gave him a towel so he could wipe it off. He winced some more and groaned as she sat down to examine the wound, which was completely covered in blood. The only indication that he was even shot was a bloody gash. There was no sign of a bullet, and she didn't want to think about how embedded it had become.

Using a wet towel, she dabbed around it and tried not to notice his grimace. She licked her lips and grabbed a pair of metal tweezers, normally used to put coal in the oven.

Seifer held up a hand. "Wait, wait, wait…"

"What?"

"Before you use those things…got any whiskey?"

"Of course I don't!"

"You don't have any liquor in this house?"

"No! What do you take me for? This is not a bar!"

"Christ, lady, you have no idea how much whiskey would take the edge off - "

"You _will_ mind your manners in my house, or so help me - "

"All _right_, I'm sorry. I'm just sayin', if I could have a glass – or several – it would make this thing a lot easier."

She glared at him. "Well, I'm afraid you'll just have to endure the pain."

He rolled his eyes. "Somehow I don't think you feel really sorry for me."

"I don't."

He chuckled. "At least you're honest."

She narrowed her eyes. "It would do you good. Whiskey's the devil's drink."

"Is it really?"

"It dulls your senses, Mister Almasy."

"I _know_ it does, that's why I _want_ it! Why do you think men go to saloons all the time?"

She gave him a look that made him regret that statement.

He cleared his throat. "I mean, who wants to go through with this fully conscious?"

"You're _not_ helping your case, sir. Besides, as I've said, it dulls your mind. You shouldn't want that."

"_You_ wouldn't care, though, would you? You already think I'm a dull-minded brute."

"Oh, will you stop being difficult and let me get along with this?"

"I'm not so sure I want you to, now. I don't have any anesthetic and you kept claiming that you weren't no doctor - "

"Mind your grammar. Alcohol makes you _drunk_. It doesn't numb the _pain_. That's all I meant."

"It'll do enough if you let it."

"This conversation is _over_. If you want my help, you'll stay quiet and do as I say." She licked her lips and glanced tentatively at his shoulder. "Now…how deep do you think it went?"

"Oh, for the love of - " Seifer suddenly stood up and strode across the room.

Quistis watched him in alarm. "Where are you going?"

"Outside."

"What?"

"I'll be right back."

Seifer left a dumbfounded Quistis sitting in the kitchen with a pair of tweezers in her hand. Once he closed the door, he glanced around to make sure there wasn't anyone nearby, then trotted swiftly towards the woods behind her house. The Sheriff and the Marshal hadn't noticed that he was ever there because he'd hidden Hyperion back in the forest, tied to a tree with plenty of oats to eat to keep him quiet. It was too dangerous to stable him; besides, he was being difficult around the teacher's mare. The last thing Seifer needed was a stallion in heat, causing ruckus in the stable. The Marshal would've definitely noticed that.

He dug around in his saddlebags until he found a bottle of whiskey and a clean shirt. He also pulled the shotgun from its holster, gave Hyperion a pat on the rear, and trotted back towards the house.

Quisits was exactly as he left her, staring at him with an annoyed expression, but stood up and looked alarmed once she saw the shotgun.

"What do you need _that_ for? You already have a gun!"

"Insurance," he replied gruffly.

"What?"

He laid the shirt and shotgun over the armchair. "This is a good gun. I'm not leaving it outside."

"I won't have you drunk in this house," she nodded towards the bottle of whiskey.

Seifer walked into the kitchen and shoved the bottle of whiskey into her hands. "Fine, but if you're gonna dig around in my shoulder, you're not gonna do it without whiskey. It'll at least keep an infection from spreading."

Quistis let out a sigh. "I take it you have experience in this sort of thing?"

"I've had a few cuts and bruises, yeah."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant. Yes, I've had scrapes with the law, we've established that. Let's get this bullet out." He motioned towards the whiskey. "Pour that on the wound."

She set her jaw, not appreciative of his orders, his tone, or his total lack of propriety. She glanced at the bottle, uncorked it, and followed his instructions, pouring the whiskey on his wound. He let in a sharp breath and growled, then grabbed her wrist and made her tip the bottle back up.

"Whoa! Not _all_ of it! That's expensive stuff!"

She glared at him and yanked her hand away, slamming the bottle on the table. "Are you quite finished?"

He grabbed the bottle and took a swig, then motioned towards her tweezers. "By all means."

Taking the hot towel from the pot of water, she wiped the tweezers clean, then held up the hot towel to his wound, swallowing hard, trying not to look at his bare body. She blinked, staring at the bloody gash, and hesitated.

"I can't see the bullet."

"That's because it's stuck _inside_ me."

The thought of putting tweezers inside his torn muscle made her stomach turn. "…Where?"

"Uh…in my _shoulder_. Up here, where it's _bleeding_."

"I _know_ where, but I can't see where the bullet went in - "

"I haven't the _damndest_ idea where the bullet went in, lady, otherwise I'd be pulling the damn thing out myself - "

"_Language_, Mister Almasy - "

"_Right there," _he pointed in exasperation. "_Just pull it out."_

She took a deep breath and exhaled, wiping the tongs and around his wound again for last measure. Blood continued to ooze slowly out every time she wiped at it. Bringing the tweezers up to his upper chest, she bit her lip and pressed them in, trying to spread the wound with her other hand to give her leverage. Seifer winced and sucked in a sharp breath, but didn't make a sound after that. There was an agonizing pause as she pinched the tweezers to only grasp nothing. Seifer grimaced and clenched his teeth, but he made no sound. She tried again and again, each time going a little deeper, ignoring his winces and trying not to feel sorry for him, but there was still no bullet. She narrowed her eyes, ignored the blood, and pressed the tips even deeper until they were almost halfway in. This time, a deep rumble emitted from Seifer's throat and he closed his fists around the wood of the chair. Quistis squeezed the tongs and they clamped around something hard.

"I think I've got it."

"Pull it out slow so you don't lose it," he instructed through clenched teeth.

Seifer let out a pained growl as she brought the tweezers back out, and to Quistis's surprise, a hard, black, round pellet came out between the pincers of her tongs. She immediately transferred it to a small plate, where it landed with a bloody _plink_.

Seifer let out a deep, growling sigh and took another swig from the whiskey bottle. This time, Quistis grabbed the bottle from him and splashed some alcohol on the gaping wound.

"Grraaah!" he clenched his teeth and jerked in the chair. "What did you do _that_ for?"

"We wouldn't want infection to take hold," she replied calmly, although she relished every bit of it. She poured some whiskey into a small bowl, then wet a needle and some thread in it. "Now, hold still. I have to sew it shut."

He glared at her, his jaw muscles working, but said nothing. This time, Quistis felt more confident as she worked, and ignored the blood getting on her hands and under her fingernails as she touched his skin softly. When she drove the needle in, Seifer pursed his lips but didn't make a sound. Instead, he kept his heavy gaze upon her as he watched her sew.

There was nothing, then, except the glow of the fire and the wood cracking and popping as it burned. Occasionally, Quistis would take a warm towel and brush it across his chest, wiping away the dripping blood, no longer shy about touching him. He examined her blonde hair, which was neatly pinned back into a neat twist but had a few loose strands that touched her cheeks and went ignored as she worked. Her sleeves were rolled up and she wore an apron, which was now stained with rusty blood. Her blue eyes were dark from the dim light, but flashed when the firelight hit just right. She had long, black eyelashes. She licked her lips when she focused; occasionally she'd bite the lower one. She had delicate, milky white skin. There was something about her expression, how her brows were furrowed as she worked…

After a time, as she sewed the wound shut, she felt her face grow hot under his intense stare. She swallowed and tried to ignore it, focusing on her work, until she glanced at him several times. When he didn't avert his gaze, she finally let out an impatient sigh and stopped sewing.

"Do you _mind_, Mister Almasy? It's impolite to stare."

"It's distracting me from the pain."

She shook her head. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult."

He narrowed his eyes. "Have we ever met before?"

She continued her work and let out a bitter chuckle. "Absolutely not. I would have remembered you if we did."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm flattered, teacher."

"You mistake my meaning, sir. Your horrible behavior alone is unforgettable, and that is _not_ something to be flattered about."

"There's just something familiar about you…but I can't put my finger on it…"

"You've probably met so many women that we're all starting to look alike."

"No…that ain't it…"

"No?"

"You don't like me very much, do you?"

"Mister Almasy, you have a gift for stating the obvious."

"Seifer."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You can call me Seifer."

She glanced up. The look he was giving her was completely disarming, and even a little disconcerting. He was a criminal. He had threatened her. He had no regard for her dignity…but for some strange reason, his hard expression held a bit of tenderness as he looked at her.

She quickly resumed her work and didn't reply, not exactly wanting to deign to a first-name-basis with him.

"I didn't get your first name, Miss Trepe."

She couldn't help but slightly smile. "That's because I didn't give it."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "No, I guess not."

"So…how about you tell me how you got shot tonight?"

He smirked. "I thought you didn't want to hear anything about it."

"Mister Almasy, my hands are covered in your blood," she glanced at him wryly, "so you might as well humor me."

"Hrm. Well. Not much to tell, really. I washed up and headed to the saloon to grab some supper. Uneventful night, really, and I wasn't plannin' on stayin' long. I was just finishin' up and fixin' to leave when wouldn't you know it, I see Leonhart with Rinoa on his arm, plain as day, almost as if they've been there all along."

"Rinoa?" Quistis repeated the name and stopped sewing.

"Sportin' gal," Seifer replied nonchalantly. "Young, too. Not some old widow lookin' for a good time."

Quistis swallowed and looked away uncomfortably. Talking about saloon women with a strange man suddenly seemed improper.

"Relatively new in town, I think," he continued, regardless of her annoyed expression. "Already famous, though. She's caught everyone's attention, that's for sure, what with that powder-blue getup she's always got on and that black hair all pinned up. Apparently a favorite of the Marshal, from what I've seen tonight."

Quistis felt sick and continued her work. "Thank you, Mister Almasy. That will do."

"Would've slipped by the Marshal unnoticed, too, if she hadn't called out my name."

The pang of jealousy stabbed even sharper. "Know all the beautiful saloon women, do you?"

"I guess you could say that me and Rinoa have a history, yeah."

Quistis let out a sigh, not understanding why she was jealous in the first place. "How charming."

"By trade, not habit," his expression grew serious. "It wasn't like that."

She glanced at him, speculative. "How so?"

"Get the girls on your side and it's easier to evade the law."

"_Use_ them, you mean."

"_No_. There's somethin' you have to keep in mind, teacher – most lawmen don't take girls like that seriously. You heard it from the Marshal yourself. What are they supposed to do if they need help? Who else would they go to? They don't trust the law."

"Well, in this case, it doesn't seem you've recruited the brightest of the lot," she replied bitterly.

To her surprise, he chuckled at that. "Guess not. She actually tried to _introduce_ us."

There was a long pause. Quistis tried not to smile, but the night was just too ridiculous, and his ironic tale was slightly amusing. When he glanced at her, she'd looked away, but he noticed her shy smile. He chuckled and looked down, shaking his head. His chuckle made her release a soft laugh.

"And that's how I got shot."

"I'm sorry," Quistis smiled and tried to continue sewing, "but that's completely absurd."

He grinned at her. "I know. What are the odds, eh?"

"He noticed you and tried to shoot you, right in the middle of a public place?"

"Nah. I tried to get out of there before he could see me, but he caught up to me and grabbed my arm. So I turned and punched him and got the hell outta there."

"You punched him?"

"Right in the face. Started a bar brawl right then and there."

Quistis tried not to look pleased by this news. Luckily, she managed to remain relatively stoic as she focused on her work.

"The Sheriff was too tangled up with another gal to help Leonhart, which bought me some time. The saloon fight helped things, too. I think Rinoa tried to distract Leonhart once she realized what she'd done, and that bought me some more time, but as I turned the horse, he followed me out of the saloon, got a shot off, and hit me as I rode past."

"It…almost seems like you two have a personal vendetta against each other," Quistis replied slowly. "Is the Marshal really that obsessed with arresting you after you shot him six months ago?"

Seifer shrugged. "Some scars never heal, teacher."

"Yes, but…it sounds so petty…"

"I shot a lawman. He's got a good excuse."

"But…Chocobo Zell is on the loose, and he's a _much_ worse man to worry about…"

Seifer raised an eyebrow. "Worse than me?"

She blinked at him, suddenly aware of what she said. "Well…no…I only meant…that…that…it _is_ a crime to steal and murder, of course, and I am _not_ condoning your behavior or actions, which are absolutely _unspeakable_ - "

He smirked at her.

"But…but…" She frowned and looked away. His grin was distracting. "…from what I've heard tonight…if you really do help women in unfortunate circumstances…"

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"The Marshal should have his priorities in order, that's all I'm saying," she huffed, quickly tying off the thread and snipping the loose ends with a pair of scissors. She grabbed a rag, dabbed it with a little bit of whiskey, and leaned forward. She paused.

"Now…this is going to sting…"

He watched her silently.

She tentatively dabbed at the wound, wiping away the blood, and checked the stitch. "I don't have any adhesive…or anything a doctor might use…but this needs to be covered up. It will still bleed a little until the wound closes." She glanced around, grabbed a clean rag, determined that it was expendable, and motioned to his arm. "Can you lift your elbow a bit?"

He obliged.

She gingerly wrapped the rag around his shoulder, circling the armpit, wrapped it around again, and tied a knot at the top of his shoulder. "How does that feel?"

"Feels secure enough."

Quistis looked him over, examining her work, and brushed her bloody hands on her apron. "Well, then…"

He watched her as she started to clean things up, and silently slipped his clothes back on. He walked over to the window and peered out. "You should get some rest, Miss Trepe."

She glanced at him, somewhat surprised of the change in his demeanor. "I seriously doubt that will be possible, with you here."

"I'm not gonna do anything tricky while you're sleeping, if that's what you mean."

"I won't be able to sleep with a stranger in my house," she replied tersely. "Surely, you must understand that."

He shrugged. "Fair enough."

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "I take it you won't be leaving soon?"

He gazed out the window and didn't answer. She sighed, resigned, and continued to clean. After a stretch of silence, he finally replied, "I figure we'll see how I heal up in the morning."

She glanced at the clock. It was almost 1:30 a.m. As soon as she realized what time it was, the forgotten fatigue was suddenly upon her. She was never up this late, and she had to teach at 8 a.m.

He seemed to notice the look on her face. "Get to sleep, teacher."

She stood straighter and glared at him. "I'm not going to put on my nightgown and sleep in my bedroom with _you_ here."

He chuckled. "Hm. That's a shame."

She narrowed her eyes, removed her apron, and took a seat down in an armchair, crossing her arms. "What are you going to do?"

He glanced back out the window. "Keep watch."

"Perhaps you should try to get some rest."

He grinned at her. "Are you giving me permission to sleep in your bedroom?"

"_No_," she snapped. "You'll be sleeping on the _floor_. I'm just suggesting that you take care, with that wound of yours."

"Well, that's very thoughtful of you," he glanced back out the window, still grinning, "but I think I'll stay here for now."

She sighed. If he was going to stay there, then so was she. She still didn't trust this scoundrel, especially in her home, and she wasn't about to leave him unattended. She readjusted her posture so she wouldn't slump. She blinked, her eyelids heavy. She readjusted again and lifted her head. It was darker in the room now, since most of the firewood had burned away in the hearth, and her eyesight grew blurry. She blinked and sat back in the chair, giving up on posture, and hugged herself, watching Seifer Almasy standing by the window, staring out at nothing in particular, a slightly angry look on his face…or concerned…or just plain stubborn…

When her eyelids closed, she fought to open them, but it wasn't long before the exhaustion won…total darkness and silence enveloped around her…

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's<em> _Note: _**Just wanted to make mention about the old west back in the day: a.) swearing was strictly taboo, especially around a lady. b.) a Marshal is like a federal agent and has jurisdiction pretty much anywhere, so he drifts, where a Sheriff is kinda like a county cop whose jurisdiction is limited to the local areas, but sometimes the jobs can overlap.


	3. Chapter 3

It was one of those urgent half-awake, half-asleep dreams that started to creep up on her. A strange sense of dread filled her. She was dreaming that she was sleeping, and she knew that she had to wake up to be somewhere.

…But where?

The sense of dread sharpened as she realized that she may be late. Late for what, she couldn't remember…late…late…

…_Late for what?_

Reality sliced into her murky dream when a bird outside chirped.

_School!_

Quistis sucked in a breath and abruptly sat up, then moaned and slumped back, rubbing her neck. She had fallen asleep in an awkward position in the armchair. She glanced down. An afghan was draped over her. Her thoughts immediately brought her back to the night before as she glanced around the room, noticing the water bowl, bloody rags, and her sewing kit still resting on the kitchen table. She looked around the room again nervously, her heartbeat suddenly picking up. Despite his turn in demeanor the night before, she was still wary of having a criminal hiding out in her home.

"…Mister Almasy?"

There was a pause as she waited with bated breath.

No response.

She blinked and stood up quickly, biting back another pained groan due to her stiff lower back – and glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle, letting out a sigh of relief.

_7:30. I still have time!_

She glanced around again, rushed to her bedroom, and tentatively stepped through the doorway.

"…Mister Almasy?"

Silence.

She blinked and glanced around, still worried he might be lurking in a corner somewhere. Then a thought hit her. She strode over to her front door and glanced down.

The lock was unhinged from its iron latch in the doorframe. There was no way to lock it from the outside. Seifer Almasy must have left sometime during the night.

She let out a tentative sigh of relief.

_He's gone._

Quistis involuntarily swallowed, wondering how his shoulder wound was faring if he was willing to leave the comfort and safety of a home, and if he was already on the road he'd better be taking care to avoid infection –

She narrowed her eyes and chided herself. _What on earth am I thinking? What do I care? Even if he does die of infection, it would serve the fool right for not going to a doctor in the first place! Good riddance! _

Locking the door with a satisfied nod, she turned and hastily cleaned up the kitchen, put her sewing supplies away, washed a few dishes, put the chairs back in their proper place, and froze.

The bottle of whiskey was still sitting on the table.

She blinked, staring at it, wondering if it was a figment of her imagination. But no. There it was, plain as day. She doubted a man like him would leave an expensive bottle of whiskey behind. The lout.

"…Mister Almasy? Are you here?"

Still nothing.

She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. He was gone. Maybe he wanted to make a hasty getaway and completely forgot the bottle was there. The thought made her nervous, because it was possible he'd be back to reclaim it.

She glanced at the clock and gasped. She had to be at the schoolhouse to ring the bell five minutes before class started, and she had fifteen minutes to spare. She would worry about the whiskey later.

After quickly wiping herself down in her wash basin, repining her hair up, changing her outer garments, and lacing up her boots, she did one more quick sweep of the house before closing the front door behind her, schoolbooks in tow. She took a deep breath and exhaled, hoping that yesterday's toils weren't plain on her face, yet she wondered how on earth she would get through the day without any distractions.

. . . . . .

Seifer hauled the buck over Hyperion's rear with a pained grunt and a wince, but he couldn't help admiring his handiwork. Not too damn shabby for being out in the woods only five hours. It was a young buck, but it would have to do. Normally deer hunting was a waste of time, especially for a vagabond, and it was easier to grab a meal somewhere in town without all the hassle, but Seifer wanted to take advantage of his...disadvantage.

He was in no condition to ride off and avoid the law. Not yet. Hell, he probably shouldn't have even carried that buck to Hyperion – not to mention field dress it – but he liked sitting out in the woods, undisturbed, where he could rest and think. He might've even dozed off a few times, which was an improvement from last night. Besides, he owed the teacher for plucking that bullet out of his arm. He was still surprised that she hadn't given him up to the authorities. He threatened her, yeah, but somehow he knew that she didn't exactly take his threats seriously. Would there have been a firefight if she'd told the Marshal? Maybe. It would've been a stupid thing to do, and he knew he probably wouldn't make it out alive, but his pride usually trumped reason. The more he thought about it, however, the more he realized that he'd been completely cornered and she could have turned him over in a heartbeat.

But she didn't.

She wasn't even _scared_ of him.

He grinned.

She definitely didn't like him. She saw right through him. She had no patience for his attitude, and she let him know about it, too. But she chose to _help_ him, when she could've run from her house screaming her pretty little head off about a murderous bandit. She practically did the opposite…even when she was staring down the barrel of a gun.

She was something, all right.

The least he could do was provide a little something in return. Seifer patted Hyperion's rear and inspected his kill with satisfaction. He doubted Miss Trepe got many prime pieces of meat from the butcher, and without a husband to provide, it was possible she only had meager rations. This would be more than plenty for a long while.

He frowned.

He didn't know what sort of living a schoolteacher made – probably a decent one, if the townsfolk were friendly – but he didn't like how she lived alone on the outskirts of the town like that.

As he secured the buck to Hyperion's saddle, he grit his teeth in thought. He hadn't slept the night before, so it was definitely possible he wasn't thinking straight, but he couldn't stop thinking about how he felt when she was patching him up…and again, when she'd fallen asleep in the armchair, as he carefully placed an afghan around her. He'd kept watch – both on her, and on the window. As he watched her sleep, he couldn't help but feel that his gut was telling him something. There was just _something_ about Miss Trepe…something…hell, he didn't know. Warm. Familiar, maybe. He couldn't put his finger on it, though. For some odd reason, he was comfortable with her, which was saying a lot. Not that he was uncomfortable around women, but there were times when he wanted to be left the hell alone. He offered his protection to the ones that needed it, but he didn't like being swooned over and pawed at. A few of the saloon girls took his chivalry to a whole different level, and that was just crap he did not need. He would offer his services, but he'd never stick around. There were only a few he could give the time of day – Matron, his adoptive mother, and Xu, his unofficial informant when it came to business.

He scowled. Matron he could spend hours with, but Xu he could only do in small doses. Both women had his respect, though.

Miss Trepe was different from the others. She intrigued him. She was a no-nonsense woman but still managed to be gentle with him. That was what bothered him the most. There was just _something_ about…the way she was with him last night.

He looked up at the sky and sighed.

Unbidden, a painful memory suddenly came to him. It was the dream again. He'd dreamt it that morning, as he was dozing against a tree.

"…_Are you an angel?"_

"_What?"_

"_An angel. Mama told me that everyone has a guardian angel. Are you mine?"_

He shook it away, irritated with himself.

_It was just a dream. It wasn't even real._

He blinked, watching the leaves of the trees ruffle slightly in the breeze. The day was growing warmer; it must've been close to ten in the morning. By now, Miss Trepe would be in school – he'd heard the faint ringing of the bell earlier in the morning – and he could probably sneak back into the house for a little nap before tending the meat. His shoulder was throbbing, and it was no doubt time to inspect the wound, probably drink a little whiskey, and change the dressing.

. . . . . .

Quistis sighed as she straightened up her classroom and started to erase the chalkboard. She'd certainly had better days. She was distracted, like she knew she would be, and the children took full advantage of it. She halfheartedly gave her lessons and ended up reprimanding them more often than not. When it was almost one o'clock, she finally gave up and let them out early, threatening them with lines and homework if they came back tomorrow with similar behavior.

It wasn't like her to be so nervous and preoccupied, and she hoped that the students would be none the wiser. The last thing she needed was a concerned parent to come around asking questions, especially since she harbored a criminal in her home overnight.

She glanced out the window, watching the lane that led up to her house. Nobody was there. _He_ wasn't there.

Quistis shook her head, gathered up her books, and walked out of the schoolhouse, locking the door behind her. She didn't know why she was expecting him to come back. Why would he, anyway? He got what he needed from her. A place to hide and a mediocre patch job.

Yet she couldn't shake that uneasy feeling. Seifer Almasy had breached the safety and comfort of her home by putting a gun in her face and threatened to harm the Marshal. She wasn't like to forget that experience anytime soon, and she doubted she'd sleep again tonight. Even though his manner toward her had softened a little in the end, it didn't change the fact that he was a thief…and a murderer.

_Squall said that he had beaten men almost to death…and killed others in cold blood. I wonder why._

Those thoughts followed her all the way up to her house, and by the time she reached the door, she hadn't noticed the thin trail of smoke already coming from her chimney. The minute she opened her door, she glanced up to find the tall, hulking figure standing in her kitchen. She squelched back a startled scream and put a hand over her mouth.

Seifer turned and gave her a grin out of the corner of his mouth. "Howdy, teacher."

Quistis clutched her chest, shut the door behind her, and hissed through clenched teeth, _"What are you doing here?!"_

"Lookin' for the salt."

She furrowed her brows angrily and cocked her head as if she hadn't heard him correctly. _"Salt?"_

"Yeah, salt. Where do you normally keep – ah, never mind. Here it is."

Her mouth dropped open and she glared at him, both outraged and astonished at his blatant and impertinent manner, but he ignored her as he plucked the small canister from one of her shelves and strode past her, walked through the front door, and closed it. His heavy boots could be heard on her porch and she gaped at the side window, trying to follow his steps, completely stunned.

Her mind had temporarily gone blank.

It was shock and surprise, really, that rooted her to the floor. Fear less so. The realization of his sheer brazenness he'd displayed by coming back into _her_ house – _while she was gone_ – and poking around in _her_ kitchen – _as if there was nothing wrong with that_ – snapped her back to reality and she marched right out of the house, following after him. He'd gone around towards the back, where his brown horse was tied to a stake in the ground and munching lazily on a bucket of oats – oats meant for _her_ horse – and was using her salt to rub on large slabs of meat, hung over the – Quistis narrowed her eyes and her mouth opened even wider.

"Are you using my _clotheslines_ to hang that meat?"

He glanced over at her. "Well, yeah. Nothing else to use around here."

She couldn't contain her rage any longer. _"What on earth do you think you're doing?"_

"I gotta cure the meat, teacher, otherwise it'll go bad."

"I mean _here!_" She snapped, balling her fists. "What are you doing _here?_ This is _my_ house! You can't go in and out as you please! You were _shot_ last night! The Marshal is _looking_ for you! No, don't you dare laugh! Don't act like there isn't anything _wrong_ with this situation - "

Seifer had held up his hands in mock defeat, grinning at her. "Look, teacher - "

"It's Miss _Trepe!_ And you're _trespassing!_"

"I'm sorry I scared you, but I wanted to get this venison goin' - "

"This is _not_ a soup kitchen!"

"Well, couldn't let all this meat go to waste, so – "

"_Really_, Mister Almasy? Did you have to bring it _here?_"

"Well, it's _yours_, ain't it? Where else would I keep it?"

She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

He put down the salt and wiped his hands. "I figured you didn't bring home much, y'know…from teaching and all that, so…"

She stared at him, not completely understanding.

He sighed and shrugged, meeting her eyes. "When's the last time you've had a good meal?"

"I've had perfectly good meals, thank you very much. My cooking - "

"Aw, c'mon, teacher. I ain't talking about biscuits and broth. You know, something that sticks to your ribs."

She raised her eyebrows, surprised by the question. It's not as if she was starving. Her life was simple, but she was able to provide for herself. "I manage."

"You're able to get meat from the butcher often?"

She looked down. "Sometimes, but…"

It was costly, and it didn't seem practical, really. Not when she lived alone, and there wasn't a husband, or children…

There was a pause.

Seifer watched her carefully, then broke the silence with a grunt, motioning towards the slabs of venison. "Well, this should last you a year." He glanced at her and gave her a once-over, a smirk forming. "Maybe longer."

She immediately crossed her arms and glared at him. "I don't believe I understand. You went hunting for venison and you're giving it all…to me?"

"That's the jist of it, yeah. I plan on takin' some jerky with me once I hit the road."

There was a pause as Quistis looked at the slabs of meat. "…But…why would you…do this?"

"I owe you. For last night."

"I was under the impression that your repayment would be the money. For the school." She glanced at him. "Or did you change your mind?"

He glared at her. "I'm no liar. I promised you I would, and I still plan on chasing that yellow-haired idiot down."

She raised an eyebrow at the slabs of meat. "This seems to be going above and beyond the call of duty, then."

He sighed. "Look, teacher, I needed rest. You and I both know I'm in no shape to go ridin' out just yet. I left early this morning and went into the woods…mostly to clear my head, grab some fresh air…when I saw a young buck and…well…I figured you could use a good supper. We both could. It was the least I could do on short notice."

She stared at him, confused. The change in his attitude was baffling. "But…just last night, you…" She suddenly didn't know what to say, and she wasn't sure she should even say anything.

His brows furrowed. "What?"

She tipped her chin up, figuring there was no way to sugar-coat it. "You're a murderer."

Anger flashed through his eyes. "You still all hung up on that? I told you I don't hurt women."

"No, but taking a man's life is just as unforgivable - "

"To who? You?" He sneered at her. "You wouldn't think so if he was trying to hit you, rape you, kill you, or worse, all of the above. What's worse, teacher? Being dead, or carrying around some lowlife's bastard kid?"

His blatant choice of words made her jaw drop in horror and she stared at him in shock. Shadows passed over his expression as he glared at her, daring her to respond, daring her to scold him, daring her to prove him wrong. But she hesitated, her reprimand dying in her throat as she realized that he was telling the truth by the look in his piercing green eyes. She suddenly felt ashamed…and sympathetic towards him…and the women that he protected…just how long had he been doing this? How much pain and suffering had he seen? What had caused all this in the first place?

There was an extremely long, tense pause.

Seifer let out a sigh of disgust and turned back towards the meat, his actions now jerky and rigid. He was obviously angry, and she'd just stirred up a hornet's nest.

She swallowed and licked her lips, trying to dissipate the tension.

"I apologize. I…I didn't know…"

His shoulders seemed to slump a little and he let out another short sigh. He turned his head to glance at her from the corner of his eye.

"How many…?" her question almost came out as a whisper.

Seifer set his jaw and looked away. She was either asking about the men he'd killed…or the women he'd killed for. Either way, it didn't matter. The outcome was the same.

He continued to salt the meat without responding. There was a long stretch of uncomfortable silence, and just when Quistis thought he would never answer, he spoke in a low voice she could barely hear.

"Enough."

She looked down and folded her hands together, feeling slightly guilty and ashamed. She bit her lip, hesitated, and replied, "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, not bothering to turn around. "Don't be sorry for me. Be sorry for _them_."

She nodded and looked down again. Seifer must've glanced at her again, because his sharp tone lost its edge. "We can save that discussion for another time, teacher."

The wind blew and she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, but she kept her gaze low and hugged herself. When she glanced back up at Seifer, he was busying himself with the meat, salting and cutting strips. She was unsure of what to do next. It was apparent that he wasn't going to leave the premises anytime soon, and she obviously had no influence on him when it came to trying to get him to be on his way.

It hadn't occurred to her to contact the deputy in town or any of the other local authorities. For some reason, Seifer Almasy didn't frighten her. She believed him when he said he wouldn't harm her. Besides, she was upset with the Marshal, especially since he'd lied to her, and…

_Squall. Hm. I haven't even thought about him all day._

She surprised herself by realizing that she wasn't even all that upset.

In fact, she was almost looking forward to a hearty dinner. Her previous night was awful, she'd hardly slept, the children were squirrely, and Seifer's company was less than desirable, but…it had proven to be a rather interesting day. It was the first time in a very long time she was forced to step out of her comfort zone, and the feeling was somewhat…exhilarating. She was quite pleased with herself that she was able to square off with a criminal without running from the house screaming like a helpless little twit, and she was even more pleased to find him actually _preparing food_ for her.

Never mind that he was sounding more and more like a vigilante instead of a criminal. He was still a dangerous man.

"I take it you'll be staying another night?"

He glanced up at her. She thought for a moment she could see…hope. His tone, again, was soft, and astonishingly polite.

"If you don't mind, Miss Trepe."

She nodded and let out a resigned sigh. "I'll get the oven going, then."

He blinked at her in surprise, obviously not expecting that response, and she turned abruptly to head towards the house, not wanting him to think that his prolonged stay was a welcome one, but more so he wouldn't see the grin she was trying to hide, which grew even wider when she heard him start to whistle a small tune to himself as he worked on the meat.

. . . . . . .

Supper was indeed a strange event for Quistis. It had been a long time since she had a guest in her house, and Seifer Almasy wasn't exactly a guest. Because he'd gone through the trouble of hunting, cleaning, and preparing the venison, however, she felt inclined to feed him at her table – even if he'd pointed a gun at her the night before. It was odd, but after hearing bits and pieces of his story, she felt that his behavior was somewhat justified.

_But not condoned, of course. A man should never act as such outside the law…_

She was suddenly reminded of Squall's disrespectful words. _"Yes, well, they call him the knight because he'll help spited women. Usually women that were abused by drunk husbands, or robbed from, sometimes saloon gals treated the wrong way. The type of women that were probably askin' for it in the first place." _

Then she remembered the look on Seifer's face earlier that afternoon. He'd seen terrible things. Things that were never spoken of in public; that most people would ignore. In the end, it didn't matter what sort of background or upbringing the women had. Seifer Almasy didn't turn his back on them.

_Maybe…maybe lawmen don't take these women as seriously as they should…_

"What's eatin' ya, teacher?" Seifer's voice interrupted her thoughts. He was watching her from across the table, chewing on a piece of food. "Does it taste funny?"

She glanced at him, then at her food. "No. No, it tastes fine. Thank you."

"Somethin' on your mind?"

"Oh, it's…" she waved a hand. "It's nothing. Just thinking."

Seifer poured himself a small glass of whiskey. "C'mon, let's have it."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're very intrusive, you know that?"

He chuckled. "I've been told."

Quistis eyed him warily as he tipped his head back and finished off the shot of whiskey, set the glass back down on the table, and poured himself another round. He glanced at her and smirked.

"You've got nothing to worry about, teacher. I'm no amateur. It'll take more than this bottle to get me drunk."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not so sure that's a very good quality to boast about."

"Sure it is. I can drink a bunch of men under the table. That kind of quality can come in handy."

She cast him a doubtful look. "I can't understand why."

"It's helped me win plenty of poker games," he grinned again and held up the glass. "Cheers."

She watched him tip the glass back and drink, suddenly curious. "Is that why Chocobo Zell was so angry with you? You said he stole your winnings."

He sighed and set the glass down. "Yeah, pretty much. Now _he's_ a fella who can't hold his liquor. He's the type of drunk that gets all wild and angry. Uncontrollable." He snorted and shook his head, pouring himself another glass. "Idiot."

"If you knew what sort of man he is, why were you playing with him in the first place?"

Seifer shrugged. "High stakes. There was a lot of money on the table."

"That's all?"

"That's all. Someone needed to beat him, anyway."

"So it's worth gambling your life?"

He shrugged again and poured another glass. "Against _him_? It wasn't a gamble. I knew I could win."

"Except you didn't."

He set his jaw and set the bottle down. "He cheated."

"And you almost died."

He glared at her. "You tryin' to make a point here?"

Quistis rolled her eyes. "I simply meant that…well…is that how you live your life? Gambling, drinking, and constantly putting yourself in harm's way?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't quite put it like that, but…yeah. I guess."

"Don't you ever find it quite wearying?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "Well, it's not _boring_."

"Mister Almasy - "

"Seifer. I don't like being shot at, if that's what you mean."

She had a feeling he wasn't taking her seriously, but she kept going. "Then why not do something else? Become a carpenter, or a butcher, or - "

He snorted and poured himself another glass. "Or a sheriff?"

She crossed her arms. "Yes. Why not?"

"I don't think I have a snowball's chance in hell of becoming anything like your pretty boy Marshal Leonhart, but it's nice of you to consider it."

She bristled. "He is not _my_ - "

"What the hell do _you_ care, anyway?" he had a smirk on his face, but it wasn't friendly. "You wanted me _gone_. Don't act like you're trying to help."

"Oh, please," she snapped. "Of _course_ I wanted you gone! You threatened to _shoot_ _me_ last night. Even _you_ have to admit that your behavior was _far_ from agreeable, yet I kept you around – God knows why – and now I can't seem to get rid of you, so you should _expect_ a scolding, _especially_ from a teacher."

The anger in his eyes dissipated and his grin grew wider. "Those are a lot of fancy words - "

"Mister Almasy - "

"Seifer."

"- despite appearances, or..." she motioned to him, "…whatever…_reputation_ you wish to project, you're obviously an educated man. _You know exactly what I meant."_

He watched her, amused. There was a brief pause as he considered her. "Hm."

"Believe what you will, but I _am_ trying to help," she looked away. "I just meant to say…that… you can't live like this forever."

He shrugged and stabbed at a piece of meat with his fork. "Not much out there for me."

"Surely there's more to life than just money and revenge - "

"Oh, sure there is," he replied sarcastically and gestured around with his fork before taking a bite. "I suppose I could live in a little log cabin like this."

She crossed her arms, offended. "You may think that my life here is mundane and pointless, but at least it is peaceful and fulfilling."

He snorted. "And lonely, too, eh?"

It was her turn to glare at him, not bothering to hide the hurt in her eyes. "Your life is completely different than mine, Mister Almasy, I'll give you that…but I'll wager you're just as lonely."

He stared at her hard, something unfamiliar flashing through his eyes. There was another awkward pause as he continued to examine her.

She swallowed, suddenly uneasy. She looked down at her fork and picked at a piece of food.

There was an uncomfortable silence. As Seifer watched her, he grit his teeth and let out a sigh, knowing that he'd provoked her first. He deserved what he got.

"Well. I s'pose I could live in a little house like this," he mused to himself, looking around.

Quistis narrowed her eyes, unsure whether he was teasing her or being serious.

"Can't do it by myself, though," he added, lifting the glass thoughtfully. "I need a woman to cook and clean for me."

Quistis set her jaw and rolled her eyes, looking away. "Clean up _after_ you, more like."

He chuckled and downed the shot of whiskey. "Yeah, probably."

"It should be easy for you, then, in your line of work."

He eyed her. "What do you mean?"

"After helping all those women? You must've met someone by now."

He set the glass down and looked away. "Naw."

She blinked, surprised. "No one?"

"…No."

"Mister Almasy - "

"Seifer."

She ignored him. "You're just being modest."

He set his jaw and remained silent.

"Surely you've fallen in love with someone?"

He let out a derisive snort and didn't answer, suddenly interested in his food.

"Hasn't there been anyone special?"

Seifer shrugged and continued to eat.

Her curiosity got the better of her, and the words were tumbling out of her mouth before she could hold them back. "There must've been at least one woman who you…"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Who I what?"

She glanced at him, suddenly embarrassed. She had no business discussing this, nor was it even necessary to talk about in the first place. "Well…er…_met_."

"I've met plenty of 'em."

"Never mind, that's not what I meant - "

"I _know_ it's not what you meant, so go on and just say it."

She licked her lips and shook her head. "It's not proper - "

"You mean whorin'?"

"_Mister_ Almasy - "

"Well, you're _wrong_."

"I never even _said_ - "

"You _implied_. These women, they pay me for _protection_, they don't pay me with their coochie."

"_Mister Almasy - "_

"It's _Seifer_. Now let's get something straight. They need to make a living too, teacher. Not all of them are good with children, and not all of them were raised by parents who were able to give 'em good manners."

Quistis looked down, ashamed. "No, of course not."

There was a long pause. They continued to eat slowly and silently, until Quistis took a sip of water and hesitantly licked her lips. "So…why do you do it?"

He glanced at her. "Do what?"

"Why do you go out of your way to break the law and help all those women? There must've been something that drove you to do that."

He looked away and grit his teeth. "I don't talk about it much."

"Well, we have all night."

"Listen, teacher, I don't think - "

"You seem bent on convincing me that you're not a criminal, Mister Almasy, so now's your chance to explain. I believe you owe me that."

He glared at her. "Hrm. You're very invasive, you know that?"

She tried to hide her smile. "Intrusive."

"Same damn thing, ain't it?"

"I don't know, is it?"

"You said I was educated, teacher, but now you're the one being a smartass."

This time she ignored his language. He made her smile. "I suppose so. Why do you think that is?"

"I must bring out the worst in you."

"You _provoke_ me, Mister Almasy. On purpose."

"Seifer."

"Well, are you going to tell me or are you just going to trample on my hospitality some more and eat the rest of my venison?"

This time he grinned. "I was right, you know."

She blinked. "About what?"

"You _are_ feisty."

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "Well?"

He sighed in defeat and glanced down at his plate.

She cocked her head. "When did you start?"

He set his jaw and glanced away. "Sixteen or so."

_Almost ten years._ "You were alone since sixteen?"

"Yeah…I mean, no…I mean I killed my first man when I was sixteen…but…my pa never knew."

Quistis stared at him in shock.

Silence. The fire popped and the distinct _tick_, _tick_, _tick_ from the clock on her mantle pounded in her ears. Finally, she tried to coax him to reveal more.

"I'm…I'm afraid you're going to have to elaborare, Mister Almasy."

He glared at her. "_Seifer_. And I will. Just…getting my bearings, is all."

She looked down and remained silent.

"It was about my mother…" He furrowed his brows and swallowed. "She…she never meant no harm to anyone. She was the kindest person I ever knew. One day, I was out doing chores, when I saw someone…a native…"

"A native?"

"From Esthar."

Quistis stiffened. "What? They never leave their homeland."

"We lived that far out into the country that they were close enough."

Her eyes widened. "You're from Centra, then?"

He gave her a curt nod.

"My goodness. I've heard stories. Mainly about - "

"The witchdoctor."

Quistis stared at him, suddenly afraid about what he was going to say next. "…Yes."

"Well…I was just a kid then. Twelve years old. I was out doing chores…helping with the plow…when…" Seifer swallowed, struggling to put the story into words. "That Esthari…he came up to me, kept pointing and asking about her…"

He trailed off, as if he were going through the scene in his head. Quistis remained silent, giving him time, dreading what he was about to say. She realized that every hateful thought she ever thought of this man was completely baseless. No person should go through what he was most likely going to tell her.

He swallowed and blinked, forcing himself to relive the memory. "She was…hanging the laundry out to dry. The Esthari kept pointing at her. I didn't understand. I thought he needed help. I didn't know. So…I led him to her. I didn't know what he wanted, I just thought he wanted to trade or something. Food. Goods. But then when I led him towards the homestead, I knew I did something wrong because of the look on her face. She wasn't moving. The Estharian was smiling at her, but it wasn't a friendly smile. Like he'd just found buried treasure or something…and she looked terrified." Seifer gulped again. "That's when pa came out with the shotgun and scared him off.

"I kept apologizing, I kept saying that I was sorry, but they told me that everything was all right. After that, though, nothing was the same. I still didn't understand, but they were afraid. Pa stayed awake all night, every night. He always had his gun close. I kept asking what I done wrong, but they kept telling me that I didn't do anything wrong, that I was a good boy, that I didn't have to worry. And the days went by. Same thing. Pa eventually got so tired that I had to take the gun from him and make him go to bed; I told him I'd keep watch. I didn't even know what the hell I was watchin' out for…"

Seifer moved to pour himself a glass of whiskey. He lifted the glass slowly, then paused and stared into it, lost in his thoughts. He set it down again and ran a finger around the rim, hesitating.

Before she knew it, Quistis reached across the table to touch his hand.

"You can tell me."

He glanced up at her. She saw raw fear in his eyes; like he was a child again.

"Four years went by. Nothing happened. And then…they took her. They took my mother."

"How?"

He pulled away, drank the shot, then sat back, his brows furrowed. "Pa and I had to take care of the farm. Eventually, we just had to go out and take care of the crops. We couldn't stay in the house forever. Ma insisted that she was fine; that it was broad daylight and that nothing would happen and that maybe we were being paranoid for nothing. That we couldn't shield her every waking minute of our lives. We got careless. Four years had gone by and we hadn't seen a single Esthari, so... We figured they'd left us well alone, and we forgot about them. One day, we left her alone…we left to take care of our chores and get supplies in town, and when we came back, she was gone."

Quistis waited for him to continue.

"Pa was frantic. He was helpless. He was out of his mind. He didn't know what to do. He wouldn't even leave the house, he wouldn't even _look_ for her…" Seifer's grip tightened on the glass and his jaw worked. "So I grabbed a horse and rode. I didn't even know where the hell I was goin', I just _went_. I started askin' questions in town, I tried to get the local sheriff to help, I tried to get information about Esthar…but nobody wanted to cross into that territory. At the end of the day, nobody wanted to help. I was alone."

There was an immensely long pause. Shadows crossed over Seifer's features, and Quistis knew he was going over the entire scene in his mind. She forced herself to speak, to bring him out of the horrible reverie he no doubt relived every single day since then.

"Did you ever find her?"

He set his jaw and gave her a curt nod. "Yeah, but…two months had passed before I found her. The witchdoctor had already done his work. She was never the same after that."

Quistis swallowed. She didn't dare ask him what had happened. When Esthar was involved, it was typical to assume the worst.

Esthar was known to be very dangerous territory, controlled by a large group of natives that believed in witchcraft and black magic. It was rumored that they often had human sacrifices to appease their gods, and they worshipped the animals that roamed the land, claiming that every being had magic in its blood.

Some more than others.

Quistis had heard stories about the kidnappings, mainly of women, that the Esthari were responsible for, under orders from their elusive leader everyone called "the witchdoctor." They had scouts that prowled the area, especially around the Centra/Esthar border, but she'd never heard of them moving that far deep into Centra before. That scout had seen his mother…and pointed at her. That's what had set Seifer's family on edge. He was too young to understand it at the time, but from then on she was a target. They'd _chosen_ her. It was possible that the natives simply watched her for four years. The thought was chilling. Why did they wait for so long? What did they want from her?

"My mother must have been…special," Seifer interrupted Quistis's thoughts with a gruff tone. "They didn't sacrifice her, but…they…" he swallowed. "There was something about her that they liked, or wanted, I guess. They _tortured_ her. They did things to her. They thought there was magic in her blood, but instead of killing her, they…they…" his grip on the shot glass tightened. "They _bled_ her. They tied her up like an animal and tried to…extract the magic…and they put tattoos on her body, like sacred writings…"

Quistis's brows knit in concern and sadness as she watched him. He shook his head and stared off, his jaw set. "She was so weak when I found her. I didn't even think when I entered their camp; I just slit a few throats, untied her, and hauled her over my horse, shooting anyone that got in my way. It's all a blur now. I was running on pure rage. I can't even believe I got out alive."

He poured himself another shot and drank it. Quistis looked over and noticed that the bottle was almost empty.

"When I got her home…pa didn't even ask any questions. I guess he sort of knew what I'd done, but he was so surprised to see her that he never said a word about it. We nursed her back to health, but she was…different. Very quiet. She rarely spoke. She recognized us, but…she was still…distant. Far off. She stared out the window a lot, or sat in her rocking chair on the porch. Pa couldn't do much…I think he was ashamed of himself, maybe…but he wouldn't leave her side. He took good care of her. I couldn't stay there, though. Not after seeing what happened to her. I couldn't stand seeing her like that, knowing that there were others out there. Knowing that maybe…I don't know…they got ahold of another little girl or someone's wife or daughter…or…"

He suddenly trailed off and his nostrils flared in anger.

_Are you an angel?_

Quistis blinked. "Mister Almasy?"

He looked up at her, determination in his eyes. "I couldn't sit by and do nothing. I had to leave. I had to get revenge."

There was a long silence.

Quistis licked her lips. "How is your mother doing now? Is she well?"

"I've never been back home since," he replied softly.

"What? Why not?"

He looked down, attempting to hide his expression. "…I'm not allowed to."

Quistis cocked her head, confused by the answer. "What?"

"Doesn't matter. I've failed them. I've failed _her_. It was my fault."

"No…"

"I was the only one capable of protecting her and I _couldn't_…"

"I'm sure she doesn't see it like that. Not in the very least. She's your mother. She must miss you immensely."

Seifer set his jaw. "I don't want her to see what I've become."

Quistis fell silent.

"That's why I never became a sheriff, as you've suggested," he added in a dry tone. "I'm a murderer. Have been since I was a boy. It started with my mother, but it didn't stop after that. I started taking offers and rewards from families whose daughters or wives had gone missing, always in Esthar country…always where the law didn't want to go. Sometimes I'd find 'em and bring 'em back home, but most of the time, I…" He trailed off and swallowed, staring at the table. "Most of the time it was too late."

There was an eerie silence.

"Eventually, someone else decided to step in. Probably because I was killing off too many Estharians, I don't know. Apparently, even after all the evil things those savages did, nobody wanted to do anything about it. Nobody wanted to start a war. I was shunned and I even got on the wrong side of the law. Can you believe it?" Seifer snorted and shook his head, drinking another shot of whiskey. "I was branded a vigilante and a murderer. People weren't allowed to offer me bounties any more, and their missing kids never got justice. Some old hotshot ex-soldier decided to take the reins. Laguna Loire was his name. Thought he could educate those poor bastard Estharians and turn 'em into civilized people, or something."

Quistis stared at Seifer. "You know Laguna Loire?"

"Unfortunately. His name should sound familiar to you." Seifer had a strange smirk on his face.

"He's the self-appointed ambassador of Esthar now."

"And the father of Marshal Leonhart." Seifer's grin was a bitter one.

Quistis nodded slowly. "Yes."

It was all starting to make sense. She knew those two had a history. She had a feeling that he and Squall had known each other long before a bad poker game. She started to wonder if Seifer had even told her the truth about Squall's arm. Squall never talked about how his arm was injured, but she doubted he was even there at the saloon during Seifer's brawl with Chocobo Zell.

"Loire ran me out of the closest territory to Esthar – Centra. He used his son with a badge to chase after me, saying that violence wasn't the answer." Seifer shook his head and poured himself another glass. "Do-goodin' yellow son of a bitch."

Quistis decided to let his language silde. She was too perplexed by this recent revelation. "You've known Marshal Leonhart for a long time. Longer than you've led me to believe."

Seifer shrugged. "I said I had scrapes with the law."

"But this is different. The Marshal isn't chasing you because you broke the law."

"Not at first, he wasn't. He kept an eye on me to make sure I stayed out of Centra. But I had to make money somehow, so I took my business elsewhere. Helped girls out of scraps in different towns. Broke more laws and got more attention. Now he has an excuse to lock me up."

"So how _did_ he injure his arm, then?"

"He finally caught up to me one day. We were standin' face-to-face, guns drawn, and he threatened to kill me if I didn't go back with him. I told him to go to hell, and pulled the trigger before he could. I shot him in the arm and knocked his gun away before ridin' off."

Quistis gave him a skeptical look. "That's it? You shot him in the arm and ran? Why didn't you - "

"I don't kill innocent people," he glared at her menacingly. "I know it's hard for you to believe. Marshal Leonhart may be a mean son of a bitch, but he ain't no mudsill. Other than me, he hasn't done anybody wrong."

Quistis crossed her arms and looked away.

He blinked at her reaction and suddenly bristled. "…He hasn't hurt _you_, has he?"

She glanced at him, alarmed. "No! Not in that way, no."

He examined her for a bit, then chuckled and poured himself another glass. "Hrm. Too bad. Could've given me a golden opportunity, teacher."

She grinned, then quickly remembered herself. "I suppose, but that'll do for now."

"Somethin' tells me that you've taken a shine to him."

It was her turn to bristle. "…Perhaps for a time. But it's not important."

"So what was it, then? He find himself a fancy gal at the local saloon?"

His grin irked her. "No," she replied stiffly. "It was…just a miscommunication, that's all."

He poured himself another shot. "Whatever you say, but you ain't foolin' anyone."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not _hiding_ anything. And don't you think you've had enough for one night?"

He glanced at his bottle, then looked back up at her. "Tell you what. I'll stop drinkin' if you answer my question."

"And what question is that?"

"What happened between you and Leonhart?"

Quistis turned pink. "Nothing. And it's absolutely none of your business."

Seifer shrugged and moved to pour himself another glass. "Well, I told you my entire _painful_ life story, I figured you'd at least return the favor. Somehow I don't think your story could be worse than mine."

Quistis crossed her arms and pursed her lips, letting out a sharp sigh through her nose as she tried to ignore the stab of guilt. Before Seifer could pour the whiskey, she grabbed the bottle to stop him. "Fine. I'll tell you. I don't know why you're so interested, anyway. You're going to be disappointed with the result."

Her fingers had overlapped with his, and he glanced over at her hand with a smirk. "Naw. I think I know how it ends."

She yanked the bottle out of his hands, corked it, and got up to put it inside a cabinet, glaring at him the entire time. "Then you needn't hear how it even begins."

"Oh, c'mon, teacher," he grinned at her. "Humor me with an old bedtime story."

She shook her head and let out another audible sigh. "It's not a very long one, and it's certainly not that entertaining."

"Go ahead and embellish, then. Badmouth him if you want. I won't object."

Quistis tried to hide a grin, picked up the dishes, and moved to the water basin. "Well, I've known the Marshal ever since I moved to Balamb; probably over ten years now. We became childhood friends. As we grew up, he became a deputy and I started teaching, but we remained close. Sometimes I thought…" Quistis trailed off, shook her head, and put a dish in the basin. "Well, I don't know what I thought. I supposed…that perhaps there would be something more. I grew very fond of him. Yet…" She shrugged and looked down. "The feeling wasn't mutual. We'd considered ourselves to be like a brother and sister, but over time, the Marshal never considered otherwise. He still thinks of me as a sister."

There was a long pause. Quistis wiped her hands on her apron, turned around, and stiffened the smug grin on his face.

"Lemme guess," he replied, sitting back in the chair. "He turned ya down flat."

"Does my embarrassing situation entertain you, Mister Almasy?"

"No."

The dimples in his cheeks from that response told her otherwise. She wanted to slap him. "Well, you look happy to hear it."

"Can't deny that," he replied with a shrug. "I don't know what you see in that hard case, anyway. His loss, in my eyes."

Quistis raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "Praise, indeed," she replied sarcastically.

"You're better off without him. Leonhart doesn't know how to treat women."

"And you do?"

"I'd like to think so, yeah."

"Yet you mentioned earlier that you've never _met_ anyone," she challenged.

He stood up. "Not yet, I haven't."

"Then how would you know?"

He smirked. "I've treated you just fine, haven't I?"

"You pulled a gun on me last night."

"Water under the bridge, teacher."

"Oh, for goodness sakes - "

He slowly stepped toward her. "You're feeding me at your table, so you must've forgiven me already."

"That's besides the point - "

"I must've done _something_ to earn your respect."

"Respect and sympathy are two _completely_ different things - "

His grin widened. "Sympathy? So you're sympathetic to my cause, eh? You admit it?"

Quistis looked away. "Well - "

"Miss Trepe doesn't think I'm such a bad guy after all, hm?"

She glared at him and held her ground. He was much too close for comfort. "I believe you've helped countless people, Mister Almasy, and there's no contesting that your family has been wronged. But I still can't condone murder."

His eyes never left hers. "Well…it's a start."

Quistis swallowed.

There was a long pause as he continued to watch her. She stared back, but like the previous night, his intense gaze burned into her until she looked away and crossed her arms self-consciously. "What are you doing?"

"I'm looking at you."

"You've had too much to drink."

"I told you I can handle my liquor."

"And this is handling it?"

"I'm not slurring my words or falling down drunk, am I?"

"You must be very good at concealing it, then."

He put his hands on his hips, shook his head, and let out a sigh. "You're a tough nut to crack, I'll give you that."

"I'm most definitely not going to be _easy_, if that's what you mean," she glared at him.

He grinned at her. "Good. I like a challenge."

She cast a look of disgust at him. "Despite your heroics, Mister Almasy, you're no gentleman."

"Seifer."

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to try to get to bed at a reasonable time. Last night has definitely taken its toll."

"You're tellin' me."

"I'll check your dressing, if you'd like, then I suggest you get some rest."

"I'd appreciate that, Miss Trepe."

There it was again. His manners.

Quistis sighed and started cleaning off the rest of the table. "I suppose I'll sleep on the armchair while you - "

"You need to sleep in your own bed," he interrupted.

"Forgive me, but not while _you're_ here," she countered tersely.

He set his jaw and sighed. "I'm not going to _try_ anything - "

"It's…it's not a matter of trust," she replied softly. "It's a matter of principle."

His lips set in a firm line and he slowly nodded. "Fine. Fair enough."

"If you're sleeping on the floor, I'll find you a blanket - "

"No, ma'am, I'll be sleeping in the stable with Hyperion."

"What?"

"I'm sleeping outside."

Quistis paused. "…You are?"

"If it'll put your mind at ease. I won't be in the house while you sleep in that bedroom. Besides, it's a nice night out and I'm used to sleeping outside."

_I can watch the entire house if I'm outside._

She blinked. "Oh. Well. Thank you. That's very thoughtful of you."

He grinned at her. "I told you. I know how to treat women."

She cracked the slightest smile. "Hmph. I'll have to see more chivalry to come to be entirely convinced of _that_. I'll find you that blanket."


End file.
